


even in death

by Phierie



Series: Black Holes and Revelations (Ironstrange Oneshots) [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Astral Projection of sorts, Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), M/M, One Shot, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Relationship, Soul Stone Dimension, Vague Magic Bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-01 11:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15142067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phierie/pseuds/Phierie
Summary: Stephen wakes after Titan, somewhere between living and dead, and reaches out in the only way he can.





	even in death

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by ideas I've seen floating around about Stephen astrally projecting from the soul stone to talk to Tony post-IW. (Which I'm pretty sure I saw first in a post by @irnstrvnge on twitter, but I couldn't find the exact one I was thinking of so,, yeah) At any rate, I really liked the idea so this is just my take on it!
> 
> Important point: the Cloak of Levitation here didn't disintegrate with Stephen on Titan. Also, it's not all that shippy really but I did write this with ironstrange in mind, so feel free to interpret that however you like.

 

The battlefield on Titan is left in relative silence after Thanos is gone. The low groans from ancient alien technology disrupted after countless years abandoned, as well as the scattering of rocks and debris, remain the only indications of what took place moments ago.

Stephen slumps back where he’s sitting, breathing hard and ragged. He’s pretty sure he’s got a cracked rib or two at the very least, but that’s hardly even a concern to him at this point.

The Guardians and Tony are a little ways off discussing something in hushed tones, Tony leaning against a rock with a hand to his middle, but Stephen is too far away to make out their words. Peter swings over and hovers near them; he looks lost and unsure and Stephen’s heart twists something horrible at the sight. Though the others keep stealing glances in Stephen’s direction they make no attempt to go over to him, and he is glad for it. He shuts his eyes and tries not to think.

A minute later, the Guardians begin turning to dust.

The scene plays out just as it should – first Mantis, then Drax, then Quill.

Then –

“Tony.”

The man turns at the sound of his name, meeting Stephen’s eyes across the deserted landscape. Stephen can make out the despair and confusion written into the lines of his face and feels nothing but guilt.

“This was the only way.”

An echo of words he has heard spoken before, by himself, in a vision of the future. The one in fourteen million.

Stephen supposes he had succeeded in a sense - this truly was the only path to victory he saw from their situation, though it feels anything but. Lose the battle, win the war; the timeline only had to stay it’s course. Still, he wishes it didn’t have to come to this.

Death doesn’t come immediately. Stephen casts his gaze a little to the side of Tony, because he can’t look him in the eye now.

Then he is gone.

 

 

\---

 

 

To Stephen Strange, the neurosurgeon, people were made up of nothing more than matter; their thoughts and feelings the interactions of neurons, chemicals and electrical potentials.

And at the barest of levels, just atoms and ions, nuclei and electrons, strung together in perfect coding to facilitate life. There was simply nothing more to it than this, and certainly nothing like the murky concepts of soul or spirit.

Until there was.

Still, despite all that he has learned of the world since his third eye opened to the mystic arts, some things haven’t changed so much in terms of his beliefs. Much as his parents may have tried to impart religion on him in his youth, his skepticism remains resolute in that sense. Spiritual, yes; religious, no. Stephen knows his fair share of gods now too, if that’s what you want to call them, but he doubts any of them will be inviting him through the pearly gates of heaven once he’s breathed his last.

And regardless of the existence of souls, the spirit required the body and vice versa; if either of these were to be destroyed, it was curtains. He has seen this first hand, caused it and experienced it all the same, though never seeing beyond the finality of death.

Even a Master of the Mystic Arts is mortal, and with mortality comes death, and with death, oblivion.

Which is why his situation now is, in a word, strange.

He is dead (in a sense, he’s pretty sure); but he is not. There is void, there is lack of form, both corporeal and astral, there _should_ be oblivion – but yet, he _is_.

Stephen had long since accepted that the only explanation for some things in the infinite dimensions of reality is that they are unexplainable. Paradoxical by nature; the mystic arts were just _like that._ So, he wouldn’t necessarily say he is surprised at this turn of events.

He does what The Ancient One instructed of him when she left him on the side of Mount Everest: surrenders. The feeling is quite unlike anything he has encountered before, if it can even be described as a feeling when he is lacking a body, even an astral form.

There is nothing.

Just void, an endless lake of blackness. And only the barest hint of consciousness, that he is able to keep his head out of the depths, kept afloat by a mere concept of self. Words like limbo and purgatory come to mind.

At first Stephen is overtaken by panic – fear. Not a common emotion for him these days after all he’s been through, but at least even the Dark Dimension was rooted in it’s own reality. This, he feels sure, is a place beyond that.

It takes a while – though it’s all relative, he has no doubt paltry concepts like _time_ have no meaning in this place – for him to even recall the events leading up to this void.

The spaceship, Iron Man, Spider Man, the Guardians, fourteen million possible outcomes.

Titan, Thanos, the time stone, Tony.

Dust.

Well, that certainly explains Stephen’s current lack of body. The rest of his predicament – not so much. Perhaps his consciousness still existing meant the gauntlet didn’t have the power to wipe out half of the universe, or more likely, this is just how it interpreted such a task. Destruction of the body, containment of the soul. As far as he can tell, it was a pretty effective way of going about things.

Though Stephen tries, he cannot sense any other life forms or souls around him. Stephen has been to dimensions unfit for humans, unfit for the very concept of matter as it was known in their universe, before – he knows how to distort the magical energies and aether of such realms until it worked just like the magic in his dimension.

He wonders then, if this existence he finds himself in is a product of similar magic. Remnants of magical energy from his very self, subconsciously manipulated when he went under, perhaps? He thinks it unlikely those untrained in the mystic arts would be able to retain any semblance of self, faced with such oblivion.

At any rate, it doesn’t need to be dwelled on. He is here. Whatever that means.

Suddenly Stephen feels horribly, utterly alone. The panic sets in again as he realises the true gravity of this situation. There is nothing he can do, and the thought threatens to tear what is left of him apart; he is nothing more than the concept of a soul floating in a void right now.

_But._

Stephen hates feeling helpless. He may be, for all intents and purposes, dead right now – but yet Stephen Strange still exists. (It’s utterly contradictory and would give him a headache to think about too much, but.) A vague sense of consciousness trapped in a pocket dimension was better than _nothing_. It really is all he has right now.

He doesn’t even know if it’s possible to use magic in this form, but he’ll be damned if he’s not going to try. Certainly, casting spells was out of the book, but if he could manipulate some kind of external magical source… A plan begins to form. He might be able to use it as an amplifier, and more importantly - get some kind of message out.

Stephen relaxes and tunes in to the magical energies around him as he has done so many times before. Without a body, the sensation is overwhelming; he focuses harder than he has ever done to simply keep his thoughts together.

Most of the dimension is dark and without any energies to speak of, as expected. There is however a single frequency, loud and overpowering, coursing as far as he can comprehend. The feeling of which is very familiar to him, though unique in it’s own right – a warm orange in comparison to his cutting green. An infinity stone.

That would work nicely.

Next is only the matter of crossing dimensions – in any circumstances no small feat, even more so now.

Stephen ponders this for a while. The best he can think of is to try and find a strong source of magic and use it to pull himself out of this dimension, as an anchor of sorts.

For this, the choice is obvious – there is one highly concentrated source of magic that he deals with on a daily basis – his flighty, unpredictable, and deathly loyal Cloak of Levitation. He knows the magical signature of his cloak like the back of his hand _(probably better, bad analogy_ ) and he was with it right up to the very end on Titan. If the cloak didn’t work, nothing would.

That would also eliminate the matter of deciding where in the universe to go – he would simply look to wherever his cloak is. And, Stephen is sure where his cloak is, Tony will be. It was his last silent request to it after all, to watch over the man.

All the pieces of the plan fall in place, but Stephen hesitates.

He knows surely what he is thinking of attempting is dangerous - wildly, stupidly so. He has no body right now, only a soul to speak of, and if that is destroyed or lost between the dimensions, there’ll be no coming back. He doesn’t even know what he’ll _do_  if he does make it to Earth, doesn’t know what he’ll say – admit that all of this was one huge gamble and he had essentially placed the weight of the universe on Tony’s shoulders? Was that really worth the risk?

He thinks to Titan – events that could’ve been minutes or years ago as far as he can tell in this place. Images, memories, come forth amongst the backdrop of the void. Tony, blade stuck in his abdomen; through the soft green light the time stone emits, his expression is one of pain and betrayal. Tony, a similar look in his eyes as they turn to meet Stephen’s at the sound of his name; the desperation as Stephen tells him it was the _only way_.

Fourteen million possible permutations of Tony Stark: each and every one of them selfless to the last. Tony, as he sacrifices himself for Peter, for the Guardians they’d met not two hours ago, for Stephen himself.

Yes, it was worth it.

Stephen steels his figurative heart and reaches through the aether.

 

 

\---

 

 

Tony doesn’t look up when someone places a mug on the desk next to him.

“Tony…” a voice begins warily. It was Scott this time, then. Tony still doesn’t look up from the dozen holographic screens situated around him, figures and blueprints and graphs and numbers looking out unblinkingly at him. In his periphery he sees Scott sigh. “You’ve been here for hours, you should at least _try_ and get some rest.”

Tony looks over at him. Scott is dressed casually in a large sweater, his hair unkempt, eyes lined by dark circles. He’s seen better days; they all had. “Why are you bringing me coffee then?”

“It’s decaf.”

Tony screws up his nose at the admission. “Gross.”

Scott ignores his comment and continues, “we’re running simulations of the Quantum Realm using Shuri’s model in the morning tomorrow; you should make sure you’re still awake for that.”

“Will do,” Tony says, taking a sip of the – unfortunately, decaf – coffee. Scott nods back in reply and leaves the room.

The lab is left in silence again, empty but for Tony – everyone else was probably scattered around the building working on other things or pretending to be sleeping. The room is illuminated by bright lights, and through the windows Tony sees only his reflection and that of the desks and benches in the room. At any other time he would see miles of the Wakandan scenery, but right now there is nothing but a pitch black void.

He runs a hand roughly through his hair, desperately trying not to lose the focus he’s been keeping for the past god knows how many hours, but he’s failing.

A light patting at his face gets him to stop abusing his scalp: it’s the corner of the collar belonging to the red cloak he wears. The gesture gives him pause.

He barely even notices the cloak these days; it’s simply always there, and unlike the first few days after he adopted it (or maybe it was the other way around) it rarely causes him any nuisance. In fact it’s the opposite – it was more of a comfort than anything, and quite the loyal companion.

Wryly, he wonders what a certain wizard would think of that particular turn of events.

Tony sighs and slumps back in his chair, cradling the mug of coffee in his hands. Now his thoughts are wandering down this path, so goes his hope of remaining focused.

He only realises he’s fallen asleep when the cloak shocks him out of slumber. It goes rigid around him, so suddenly Tony jumps, the half-full mug slipping out of his fingers and crashing onto the hard floor of the lab.

The cloak all but flings Tony out of the chair and to his feet, escaping from where it was trapped beneath him and speeding off his shoulders, exposing the t-shirt he wears underneath. Tony is left quite dumbstruck as the cloak flies in fast circles around the lab.

“Uhh…” He doesn’t know whether he should say something to try and placate it. Tony can’t see anything out of the ordinary in the lab – it was just as empty as it was before he’d dozed off.

Suddenly the cloak comes to a stop in mid-air in the middle of the room, frozen in place.

“Boss,” FRIDAY’s voice suddenly sounds through the lab, “I’m detecting an unusually high energy signature from the middle of the room.”

“What kind?” Tony asks cautiously.

“…Indeterminate. Would you like to inform the other occupants of the building?”

“No.” Tony doesn’t know why. He waits; eyes on the cloak and the space around it. The air hums with anticipation.

Suddenly, a crack.

Then another – the very air next to the cloak splinters like shards of glass, reflecting in shades of translucent silver, grey.

The cracked air flickers and shimmers in place; Tony holds his breath, his heart pounding against his chest as he watches the (magical? he assumes) phenomena. But nothing happens, nothing emerges from it. Slight vibrations are the only movement, the distorted air soft yet sharp.

But then: a voice, so quiet he might have missed it if it wasn’t for the absolute silence of the room.

“ _Oh_ , _thank the Vishanti, it actually worked_.”

Tony freezes dead, shock rippling through his every inch.

He wouldn’t mistake it - that’s a voice he hasn’t heard since he was on that godforsaken orange planet all that time ago. His knees threaten to give out beneath him. As if realising this, the cloak flies back over to Tony and steadies him on his feet.

“This isn’t real, right,” he mutters to himself – there was no-one else in the room to speak to, for god’s sake – “I’m clearly hallucinating right now. Or asleep.”

“ _I certainly hope not_ ,” the voice replies, and yeah, okay, there was no doubt about it, that was Strange’s voice. He sounds as tired and beat down as he did at the very end, the subtly crystalline quality of the sound doing little to mask it, and it makes all the memories of Titan rush painfully back.

Of the battle, of –

“What the _fuck_ is this, Strange,” Tony asks breathlessly, because he’s afraid he’ll throw up otherwise. “How is this – how are you – I saw you _die_.”

“ _Well…_ _In a sense, I did. I’m projecting to you now from across the dimensions, I suspect from a pocket dimension in the soul stone, where my own soul is residing currently_ ,” Strange says quickly. A billion thoughts, questions, rush through Tony’s mind at once. He’s glad he has the cloak to keep him from falling over.

“You – the soul stone? Just you, or…” Tony dares not hope, but his heart jumps anyway. “This is so fucking weird, by the way,” he mutters, watching the cracks in space from which Strange’s voice emits shift slightly.

“ _Yes, it rather is. And to answer your question: likely everyone that died that day remain trapped in the stone, or, their souls at least. I’m only aware of it right now because of my connection to the mystic arts. I imagine everyone else is not conscious, but their souls exist still. And that means_ -”

“Then…” Tony begins, anticipating Strange’s next words.

“ _There’s still a chance_ ,” Strange confirms, his voice firm, desperate. “ _I wouldn’t have done what I did if there wasn’t, but now I know for sure_.”

Tony lets out a heavy breath. “Oh my god.” If what Strange says is true – and sure, why wouldn’t he trust disembodied floating voices in the air after all the shit he’s been through – then, everyone that had died – there was still a _chance_.

So much life, lost in a moment, but his mind catches on a few: Pepper, Peter. Strange.

Of course, everyone had said they would reverse the terrible acts Thanos committed, everyone was so _sure_ at first, but as time went on, well. Tony remembers feeling Peter turn to dust in his arms and is not sure he ever believed.

But now –

“ _Of course, there’s the matter of returning said souls to our bodies, no simple task. The soul stone must be the key, but still..._ ” Strange continues, his words verging on optimistic but his tone less so.

“What -” Tony balks, “isn’t this the part when you tell me what I’m supposed to do? You’re the one who saw the damn future, after all.” _You’re the one who kept me alive_ , Tony adds silently. It had to be for a reason.

Tony’s life against those of half the entire universe. Strange’s decision is one he has spent much – _too much_ – time thinking over. Not like the guilt is one of the major players keeping him up at night or anything.

And he needs – If Strange is somehow here, now - he needs to know what it was _for_.

“ _I’m sorry, Tony. But I don’t know_ ,” Strange admits, and the regret in his voice is palpable, honesty unquestionable. His voice becomes more strained and the shards in the air flicker as he continues, “ _I could never see past my own death using the time stone. Happened in this timeline, of course, and then everything was all… fuzzy. Dark, for a while. But then I saw an **after**. I don’t have time to explain more than that now._ ”

The disappointment is a dead weight in Tony’s heart. Of course it wouldn’t have been that simple.

“ _Still, the way things had to play out… I believe it must mean that you are critical to whatever plan stops Thanos. And I have nothing but faith in you_.”

Those words resound solemnly in Tony’s ears.

Strange, who at first seemed to Tony all shades of aloof and arrogant, speaks to him now with nothing but respect in his voice. The difference is jarring. Briefly Tony wonders what inspired such a change; what Strange must have seen in those possible futures.

Strange stops talking for a moment, but before Tony can collect his thoughts enough to reply: “ _Just out of curiosity, where are we? And how long has it been?_ ”

“Wakanda,” Tony replies, “and since Titan? About three months.”

“ _I see_ ,” Strange says with a hint of surprise. “ _I’m afraid I’m going to – urk – have to leave you soon. Unprotected, my soul is deteriorating in this dimension faster than I thought it might_.”

“What – no no no, wait a sec,” Tony splutters, fear gripping his heart, the thought that if this ends none of it will have been real. There is still so much, he is sure, still so much he needs to know. That he needs to ask.

“ _I’m… sorry I’m not there to help you,_ ” Strange admits. His voice wavers. “ _Would that I could, but…_ ”

“Strange,” Tony breathes, at a complete loss for words now.

“ _I fear I won’t be able to do this again. Goodbye, Tony. Keep an eye on my cloak for me_.”

Without another sound, the cracks in the air disappear and the lab is left in empty silence, not a trace of Strange remaining.

Tony really feels like he’s going to collapse this time, but the cloak steers him back to his chair instead. The remnants of his destroyed coffee mug still lay on the floor. For a while he simply sits there, head in his hands, trying to process what just happened.

He thinks of Titan - of Peter, the way his eyes filled with tears as his body disintegrated beneath Tony’s fingers.

_I’m sorry, Mr Stark –_

But Peter was still alive. Or – not quite alive, perhaps, but his soul still existed. To put it bluntly, Tony will admit he’s never really thought of the concept of souls as anything other than bullshit, but.

He thinks of Strange’s voice just now – tired and regretful and bearing the mark of hard decisions.

It was a chance. It was hope. He’ll take anything he can get.

Tony stands once again and begins to continue looking over some of the holograms on the bench. As he does the cloak wraps a corner around his wrist - whether comfortingly, sadly, imploringly, he’s not sure.

“Yeah, I know. We’ll get them back. We will.”

He doesn’t even know if the path they’re on is the right one, but it’s all they have. Tony steels his heart and continues working until the sun rises over the Wakandan mountains.

 

 

\---

 

 

Stephen tries to take it all in – the image of Tony, standing alone in the lab, Stephen’s cloak draped protectively over his shoulders and hovering slightly to avoid touching the floor. No eyes with which to see, but he does all the same. The familiar magical energies of the Earth fill his soul and he feels horribly homesick for it.

Briefly Stephen wonders if this will be the last sight he sees. It’s preferable, at least, to the desolate landscape of Titan.

But as he beholds Tony’s expressions – changing from shock to confusion to fierce _determination_ – he feels sure, in his heart, it will not be.

Unfortunately, for the now - he can feel his soul crumbling into the atmosphere of this dimension and it is agony in a way quite different to anything he has experienced before. Time was up. It feels so horribly fleeting.

Stephen speaks his last message to Tony: “ _I fear I won’t be able to do this again. Goodbye, Tony. Keep an eye on my cloak for me_.”

Dropping his mystical connection to the Cloak of Levitation, he feels his way back through the dimensions.

Back, again, to nothing. The feeling of the void is perhaps even worse than before.

But now Stephen is tired; he senses the trick had done a number on his soul and he needs to let it recover. He cannot keep a hold of consciousness for long – like falling asleep, it slips away, comes back with shock as he realises where he is, and slips away again.

There would be no dramatic comebacks, no saving the day, no more helping, for Stephen now. He did everything he could from this situation, he knows; the act still feels pitifully small. But, maybe it was worth something. It was hope.

He wonders if Tony will ever be able to forgive him for all he has done. Hopes he lives to find out.

Stephen surrenders once again, and this time lets the infinite void drag him under, to oblivion.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a bunch for reading!! This is the first fic for these two (and Marvel in general) that I've finished, so I'd love to hear what you thought! (and I MIGHT have a multichapter in the works as well but. that remains to be seen)


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